


warm

by placentalmammal



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Kissing, Sharing Body Heat, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 14:13:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14854289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/placentalmammal/pseuds/placentalmammal
Summary: A moment between Hella and Adaire.





	warm

The snow starts after midnight, softening the stark lines of the leafless trees and lending a stern, alien beauty to the dense forest. The clouds diffuse the moonlight, bathing the world in soft, silvery light. It’s beauty to take your breath away, and Adaire is trying very hard to appreciate it.

She can tell that the going will be absolutely miserable tomorrow. It’s been a cycle, lately: snow falls overnight, melts halfway, and then refreezes, turning the dirt roads to a mess of mud and slush and ice. The conditions are even worse on the main thoroughfares, where the constant passage of feet has churned the dirt and the snowmelt into frozen muck. They’ve kept to the back roads for weeks, and they’ve made good progress toward Rosemarrow.

That’ll change if the snow keeps up, if the winter deepens and settles in. Adaire’s heard tell of frozen lakes and hip-deep snow drifts out east, and she’s trying very hard not to think about it. She is trying not to think about the bad roads, about her aching feet, about the mud and the muck ground into the fibers of her best wool skirt. She is trying to be grateful for the stillness, for the silence, for the moment’s reprieve from their long journey. It is cold and it is late and they will be on the road again all day tomorrow, but right now, there is nothing urgent pressing on them.

She takes her pleasure where she can.

Adaire shares a bedroll with Hella in a one-man tent at the edge of their campsite. It’s not exactly comfortable, but it’s a worthwhile trade-off to keep the other woman close. She has excuses at the ready, in case anyone interrogates her about her insistence on sharing a tent with Hella: it’s too cold to sleep single, it’s sensible to have another body beside you to guard your back, Hella snores less than Hadrian. A hundred and one reasons, but the truth’s a lot plainer: Adaire _likes_ sleeping with Hella. She likes the closeness, she likes falling asleep to the sound of her breathing, she likes waking up in her arms.

This is one of the few indulgences she allows herself. Everything else is a performance, is about conveying the right sort of message with sweet words and a honeyed voice. What she does with Hella is about the comfort of another body beside your own. It’s easy, it’s simple, it’s nice. They spend their days on the road and they spend their nights huddling for warmth, calloused fingers tracing lazy circles on bare skin.

Mostly, they fuck without pretense, without artifice. Maybe if they had time or space for feelings or words, they’d make a production of it--Adaire looming with a crop or a bullwhip, Hella lashed to the bedposts and laid out for consumption.

Out on the back roads of Hieron, it’s too uncertain for all of that. It’s too cold, even, to make a show of undressing. Instead, Hella and Adaire strip down to their underthings and crawl beneath the covers. Numb from cold and clumsy with desire, they fit their bodies together and pull the blankets close around their shoulders.

Adaire situates herself on top of Hella, kisses her soft lips while her fingers dance along the length of her arms, down her muscled flank. Hella pushes her leg up between Adaire’s thick thighs, offering her something to rut against while she slips her hands inside Adaire’s shift to palm her heavy breasts. Adaire gasps audibly when Hella tugs on her nipples--the sensation goes straight to her cunt, and she can feel herself soaking through her smalls. She’s wet and open and eager despite the way her quilted petticoats diffuse sensation. Already half-mad with lust, she begins to move more urgently, lips open around a moan. She grinds down against Hella’s thigh, clutching at her shoulders for support. When Hella kisses her throat, she forgets to stifle her shout.

Hella’s mouth is hot and insistent on Adaire’s neck. The larger woman trails searing kisses along her jaw, down her throat, across her collarbones.She kisses everything she can reach, every patch of bare skin, and she is so _warm_. Hella is a furnace, an inferno, and she burns like alchemical fire, white-hot and almost too much.

Outside of their little world, the wind rakes its fingers through the bare branches and chases stringy clouds in front of the sallow moon. Inside, Adaire shifts and squirms in Hella’s arms, hair coming loose from her braid and slipping down to frame her ruddy face. She’s pink with exertion, flush creeping down her neck to color her chest. Her tits are pretty and pert in Hella’s hands, round and rosy, stretch marks like veins of silver. She’s no great beauty, but Hella makes her feel like summer itself.

“Can I touch you?”

One of Hella’s massive hands has fallen to Adaire’s waist, resting there on the curve of her belly, waiting for permission. Adaire can only nod, and then Hella’s tugging at her drawstrings, loosening her waistband. Hella’s hand slips inside her smalls and settles between her legs, seeking the wet heat of her.

Head thrown back, Adaire groans, her hands on Hella’s shoulders to steady herself. She moves her hips against Hella’s hand, grinding down against her fingers. And even here, Hella is blunt as a brick: two fingers against Adaire’s clit, steady and unrelenting. No teasing, no misdirection. It’s good, it’s _great_ , it’s exactly what Adaire needs. Moaning, she shakes apart on Hella’s fingers, face hidden in the crook of the other woman’s neck. She slumps against Hella after she’s come, loose-limbed and sated. She mouths lazily at Hella’s mouth and jaw, too tired to kiss her properly.

Hella’s hands find their way to Adaire’s hair, smoothing it back off her forehead and combing her fingers through her curls. She peppers Adaire’s neck and jaw with gentle, closed-mouth kisses and rubs little circles into her scalp and shoulders. Adaire leans into the contact, eyes fluttering shut. “That’s good,” she says, sleepily. “Let me--”

She frees her pinned arm, slips it down between Hella’s legs. She lets out a short, sharp little gasp when Adaire parts her slick folds, slides her finger up into her. “How’s that?” she murmurs, finger sliding in and out of her wet cunt. Hella clenches and shudders around her, big hands digging into Adaire’s shoulders, clinging to her.

Her mouth is open in a moan, so Adaire kisses her throat. She’s gentle, lips and tongue, the barest scrape of teeth over her soft skin. Hella whimpers, shivering, and tenses underneath Adaire. Her hand falls down to join Adaire’s and she rubs at her clit while Adaire fucks her. “More,” she pants, “Adaire, please, give me--”

She takes another finger and she takes it beautifully. She’s close--there’s tension in every line of her body and she’s breathing fast and hard, panting as she bears down, shuddering, on Adaire’s fingers. Adaire’s eyes slide over her body, taking in her open mouth, her heaving chest, the thatch of red curls between her parted legs, slick and shining with arousal. She’s touching herself frantically, drawing tight circles around her clit with her middle and pointer fingers.

Adaire bends her head and kisses her breasts, flicking her tongue over her nipples. Hella gasps, arching up into Adaire’s mouth, and she cries out when she bites, catching the sensitive bud between her teeth. She comes with a shout, fingers of one hand digging into Adaire’s back while she touches herself with the other. Adaire can feel her clenching around her fingers, and she tips her face up to kiss Hella as she comes.

Hella kisses back, and then pulls Adaire down to lay beside her, draping an arm across her torso. She buries her face in the crook of Adaire’s shoulder, and her curls slip forward to tickle Adaire’s cheek. She brushes them aside and kisses her forehead, her cheeks, everything she can reach. Hella smiles lazily, and tips her head up for one final kiss she drifts off to sleep.

Adaire lays awake a little longer, her mind wonderfully blank. Outside, the snow is piling up, but she can think only of the woman beside her, the softness of her skin, the warmth of her body. It’s not long before she falls asleep as well, lulled by the rhythm of the other woman’s breath.


End file.
